Mrs. Yue's words, 'wait until we go home', strung a string in Yan Qingsi's heart. The word 'home' was too far away from her.
Ever since Mrs. Yue and Yue Tingfeng became part of her life, Yan Qingsi's life finally had a bit of warmth, just like the bowl of porridge that they sent over early in the morning.
It did not taste like the porridge bought on the streets, but handmade by a mother.
"We're fine, just some bruises."
Mrs. Yue looked at Yan Qingsi's face and sighed, "Those are injuries too. I've seen the photos online, it was so dangerous."
Yue Tingfeng did not speak. He searched through the food that Mrs. Yue brought, frowned, and asked, "Mom, is there no meat?"
Mrs. Yue extended a hand and patted him. "What meat? I brought you food to eat this early in the morning, be grateful."
Yan Qingsi took a sip of the lily and red jujube porridge. It was not very sweet and it left an aftertaste in her mouth. She smiled. "I like it."
